


Rainfall

by reassembleme



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Dorian has to Leave, M/M, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-29 02:29:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15063050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reassembleme/pseuds/reassembleme
Summary: “There’s no you in Tevinter. What else matters?”





	Rainfall

   The night is too short and too long all at once, and Caine’s mind races with the unwanted promise of tomorrow. He shakes it off as he pulls Dorian in; he has this, at least. Close together in the quiet of his rooms, the weight of the distance between them already hangs heavy in their actions; in the press of their lips, the touch of their bodies, the way their eyes fall on each other. Caine works to remove all of Dorian’s damned belts, Dorian’s hands on him all the while. Their breathing fills the space between them, underscored by the crackling of the dying fire. Outside, the falling of the rain sounds against the walls of Skyhold; Caine ignores it. There’s a need in him, a persistence that urges him to turn a blind eye to the rest of the world. Even in this, exposing Dorian to the cool air of his chambers, Caine is deliberate, focused. He lifts his gaze to meet Dorian’s, having finally freed him of his ridiculous outfit, and sees a desperation in their depths that surely mirrors his own.

     Caine leans back on the bed, removes his tunic. Dorian hesitates. He opens his mouth. Closes it. Tries again.

     “ _Amatus_ , I-,” Dorian says. Caine leans back in, reaches for his hand.

     “Please, Dorian. _Not now_ ,” he says, voice soft. He waits, watching as a frown passes over Dorian’s face before he nods. Caine brings their joined hands up to his lips, kisses his palm. Then, he’s surging forward, pulling Dorian to him. He slides himself onto Dorian’s lap as he fits their hips together, insistent in the way he presses. Dorian groans into the kiss, hands sliding up into Caine’s hair. Caine’s eyes fall closed, groans under his touch, against the sweet heat of Dorian’s body on his.

     It was the reality Caine had willfully put to the back of his mind; a whisper of a nightmare that couldn’t possibly come true. Dorian had told him, had warned him their time together would be temporary. The Inquisitor was never known for his good decisions.

     He shoves aside the sensation in his stomach, that dreadful weight in his core, losing himself to Dorian. Caine pushes, and Dorian meets him where he is. Tonight, that isn’t enough. He grinds down, needing him to feel this moment with him. Relentless, he grabs a fistful of short hair in his hand, tugs. He advances, barely leaving Dorian room to breathe. His lips trail along his throat. He grins, knowing it’ll bruise in the morning.  _Think of me_. Dorian’s hands travel along the length of Caine’s body, fingers searching for skin where they can. They play at the waist of his leggings, dips beneath them. Caine shifts just enough to remove them, before he's on Dorian again.

     “ _V_ _henan_ ,” he says, voice rough at Dorian’s ear. Dorian shivers below him, laving kisses along the column of his throat. His lips follow the lines of Caine’s vallaslin, trailing down the planes of his chest, as he leans over to grab the small glass vial by the bed. He rights himself, eyes on Caine as he slicks his fingers. They begin to work him slowly, and Caine inhales sharply. Caine attempts to move, but a steadying hand stills him. Distantly he’s aware he’s panting, digging strong fingers into Dorian’s shoulders. The drag of his fingers, that maddening in and out, is nearly enough to bring him to his edge. There’s a coil in him, wound tight and ready to spring undone at a moment’s notice.  _Not like this_. The sound escapes his throat before he can notice, a near growl of frustration that has Dorian smirking against him. He brings his lips to Caine’s ears, too sensitive as he nuzzles.

     “ _Dorian_ ,  _please_ ,” he says. Finally, blessedly, Dorian begins to shift, laying Caine back down on the sheets.

     “Impatient now, aren’t we?” Dorian says. Caine pulls him down, crushing his lips to his. He grinds up against him, searching for a friction that Dorian easily offers in spite of his teasing.

     “Fuck me, Dorian,” he says against his lips. Dorian slides inside, a slow thing that has them gasping when he reaches the hilt. Caine winds his arms around Dorian’s neck, as Dorian rests his forehead on Caine’s shoulder. Close, but not close enough. Something in him wants more. Still, it’s good; so, so good. The first drag out, the thrust back in, has Caine arching up against his fancy Orlesian sheets. Black hair splays around him; Dorian pushes it back out of his face as his hand cups his head, eyes on his. He wraps his arms around him, holding him close, and Caine can’t stop the aching that takes him. He’s falling apart under Dorian, breathless in a limbo; his affections holding him prisoner. Dorian’s thrusts pick up, eyes helpless as they find Caine’s.  _Stay_. They kiss, a mess of a thing that has Caine’s heart beating faster; tongue in teeth, lip bruising in intensity.  _Stay_. Dorian’s lips graze Caine’s throat, his lobe, wherever he has the mind to kiss.  _Stay_. And it’s ridiculous, the tears that threaten to fall. Caine bites them back, urges Dorian to hold him tighter.

      “ _Ar lath ma, Vhenan,_ ” he says, looking him in the eyes. Suddenly he’s being lifted, Dorian sitting back against the headboard of the bed with Caine sat firmly in his lap. Without prompting, Caine begins to move; lost in the wanting, close to his climax.

     “You’re so beautiful,  _Amatus_ ,” he says, pushing the words out. He’s near his end as well, face flushed as he stares up at Caine. Caine reaches down to grab his face, kissing him again while Dorian grabs his length. He gasps against Dorian’s lips, and Dorian’s other hand holds on tight. “Come for me, you’re so beautiful, come for me Caine.” Caine surrenders to it, the springing of the coil, and he’s shuddering against Dorian. He cries out, holding onto him like a lifeline, and he barely registers it when Dorian quickly follows. Arms tight around each other, they both slow their breathing to the sounds of the storm outside, to the few embers left burning in the fire. His skin still feels like it’s on fire as they lay down together, Caine draping himself across Dorian’s chest. Head against chest, he listens to the beat of Dorian’s heart.

     A hand smooths over the expanse of his back, half healing the ache that can’t be seen. He lifts his head, a look he can’t name on Dorian’s face.

     “Dorian,” he says, and it’s a choked thing. The weight returns, unwavering. His throat strains with the words that threaten to spill, words that would just be that; words.

      Elf. Herald. Inquisitor.  _Why can’t I be just a man?_

     “We have tonight,” he says, sitting up. Caine follows, watches him in the dim light of the room. Illuminated by the flashes of lightning, Caine misses him already. He reaches for his hands, pulling him back towards him, kissing him again.

     “We have tonight.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so, so much for reading!! I hope you enjoyed!!


End file.
